


The Selection

by OxyMoron1610



Series: The Selection Series [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, The Selection Series - Kiera Cass
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Bad Parent Wentworth Tozier, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Bisexuality, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Frank is Alive, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Good Parent Frank Kaspbrak, M/M, Multi, Myra is Eddie’s Sister, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is Whipped, Royal Richie Tozier, Slow Burn, Sonia is not Crazy, Top Richie Tozier, higher rating comes later tho :), only a little though and i am sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29306046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxyMoron1610/pseuds/OxyMoron1610
Summary: For thirty-five guys and girls, The Selection is the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity to escape the life laid out for them since birth. To be swept up in a world of glittering gowns or sumptuous suits and heaps of priceless jewels at their disposal. To live in the palace and compete for the heart of the gorgeous Prince Richard.But for Eddie Kaspbrak, being Selected is a nightmare. It means turning his back on his secret love with Bill, who is a caste below him. Then Eddie meets Prince Richie. Gradually, he starts to question all the plans he’s made for himself - and realizes that the future he’s always dreamed of may not compare to the future he’s never imagined.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: The Selection Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152488
Comments: 22
Kudos: 36





	1. A Letter Arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!
> 
> guess what? it’s another au! because i’m unoriginal!!
> 
> hope you enjoy <3

When we received the letter in the post, my mother was ecstatic. She had already decided that all our problems were solved, gone forever. The big hitch in her brilliant plan was me. I don’t think I am a particularly disobedient son, but this is where I draw the line.

I don’t want to be royalty. And I don’t want to be a One. I don’t even want to try.

I hide in my room, the only place I can go to avoid the chattering of our full house, trying to come up with a single argument that would sway her. So far, I have a solid collection of my honest opinions... I don’t think there was a single one she would listen to though.

I can’t avoid her for much longer. It is now approaching dinner time, and as the oldest child left in the house, cooking duties always fall on me. I pull myself out of bed and walk into the snake pit.

I receive a glare from Ma but no words.

We do a silent dance throughout the kitchen and dining room as we prepare the chicken, pasta, and apple slices, and set the table for five. If I ever glance up from a task, she fixes me with a fierce look as if she can shame me into wanting all of the same things that she does. She tries that every so often. Like if I do’t want to take on a particular job because I knew the family hosting us was unnecessarily rude. Or if she wants me to do a massive cleaning when we can’t afford to have a Six come and help.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. And this is the one area where I am completely unswayable.

She obviously can’t stand it when I am stubborn, but I got that particular trait from her, so she really shouldn’t be all that surprised. This isn’t just about me, though. Ma has been tense lately. The summer is ending, and soon we’ll be faced with cold. And lots of worry.

Ma sets down the pitcher of tea in the center of our table with a harsh, angry thud. My mouth waters at the thought of tea with lemon. But I will have to wait; it would be such a waste to have my glass now and then have to drink water later with my meal. 

“Would it kill you to at least fill out the form?” she says, no longer able to contain herself. “The Selection could be a wonderful opportunity for you. For all of us.”

I sigh aloud. It definitely sounds like something close to death.

It is no secret that the rebels - the underground colonies that hate Derry, our large and comparatively young country - make their attacks on the palace both violently and frequently. We have seen them in action in Bangor before. One of the magistrates’ houses was burned to the ground. And a handful of Twos had their cars vandalized. There was even a magnificent jailbreak once, but considering they only released a teenage girl who’d managed to get herself pregnant and a Seven who was a father to nine, I can’t help thinking they were in the right that time.

But beyond the potential danger, I feel like it would hurt my heart to even consider The Selection. I can’t help smiling as I think of all the reasons I have to stay exactly where I am. 

“These last few years have been very hard on your father,” she hisses at me. “If you have any compassion at all, you might think of him.”

Papa. Yeah. I really do want to help Papa. And Myra and Francis. And, I suppose, even my mother to some extent. When she talks about it that way, there is nothing to smile about. Things have been strained around here for far too long. I wonder if Papa will see this as a way back to normal, if any amount of money can make things better.

It isn’t that our situation is so precarious that we are living in fear of survival or anything. We aren’t destitute, but I guess we aren’t that far off either.

Our caste is just three away from the bottom. We are artists. And artists and classical musicians are only three steps up from dirt. Literally. Our money is stretched as tight as a wire, and our income is highly dependent on the changing of the seasons.

I remember reading in a timeworn history book once that all major holidays used to be cramped into the winter months. Something called Halloween followed by Thanksgiving, then Christmas and New Year’s. All back to back. 

Christmas is still the same. But when Derry made the massive peace treaty with China, the New Year came in January or February, depending on the moon. All of the individual celebrations of thankfulness and independence from our part of the world were now simply the Great Feast. That came in the summer. It was a time to celebrate the forming of Derry, to rejoice in the fact that we were still here.

I don’t know what Halloween is. It sadly never resurfaced.

So at least three times a year, the whole family will be fully employed. Papa and Myra will make their art, and patrons will purchase them as gifts. Ma and I will perform at parties - me singing and her accompanying me on the piano - not running down a single job if can manage it. When I was younger, performing in front of an audience terrified me; but now I just try to equate myself to background music. That’s what we are in the eyes of our employers anyways. 

Meant to be heard and not seen.

Francis hasn’t found his talent yet. But he is only seven. He still has a little time.

Soon the leaves will change, and our tiny world will be unsteady again. Five mouths but only four available workers. No guarantees of employment until Christmastime rolls around.

When I think of it that way, The Selection seems like a rope, something sure I could grab onto. That stupid letter could lift me out of the darkness, and I could pull my family along with me. 

I look over at my mother. For a Five, she is a little on the heavy side, which is odd. She isn’t a glutton, and it’s not like we had anything to overeat anyway. Perhaps that’s just the way a body looks after having several children. Her hair is red with numerous brilliant white streaks that had appeared suddenly and in abundance about two years ago. Lines crease the corners of her eyes, though she is still pretty young, and I can see as she moves around the kitchen that she is hunched over as if an invisible weight rests on her wide shoulders.

I know she has a lot to carry. And I know that’s why she has taken to being particularly manipulative with me. We fight enough without the extra strain, but as the empty fall quickly approaches, be becomes more and more irritable. I know she thinks I am being unreasonable now, to not even want to fill out a silly little form.

But there are things - important things - in this world that I love. And that piece of paper seems like a brick wall keeping me away from all that I want. Maybe what I want is foolish. Maybe it isn’t even something I can have. But still. It is mine. I don’t think I can sacrifice my dreams, no matter how much my family mean to me. Besides, I have given them so much already.

I am the oldest one left now that Kathrine was married and Nikolas was gone, and I do my best to contribute as much as I can. We schedule my homeschooling around my rehearsals, which take up most of my day since I am trying to master several instruments as well as singing.

But with the letter here, none of my work matters anymore. In my mother’s mind, I am already queen. 

If I was smart, I would have hidden that stupid notice before Papa, Myra, and Francis came in. But I didn’t know Ma had it tucked away in her clothes, and mid-meal she pulls it out.

“‘To the House of Kaspbrak,’” she sings out.

I try to swipe it away, but she is too quick for me. They would have found out sooner or later anyway, but if she does it like this, they will all be on her side in an instant.

“Ma, please!” I try to plead with her.

“I want to hear!” squeals Myra. That is no surprise. My sister looks just like me, only a three-year delay. In turn, I look just like my father. But where Myra and I’s looks are practically identical, our personalities are anything but. Unlike me, she is outgoing and hopeful. And currently very boy crazy. This would seem incredibly romantic to her.

I feel myself blush. Papa listens intently, and Myra is practically bouncing with joy. Francis, sweet little thing, keeps eating. Ma clears her throat and goes on.

“‘The recent census has confirmed that a single man between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently resides in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honor the great nation of Derry.’”

Myra squeals again and grabs my wrist. “That’s you!”

“I know, you little monkey,” I say to her. “Stop before you break my arm.” But she just holds my hand instead and continues to bounce some more.

“‘Our beloved prince, Richard Tozier,’” Ma continues, “‘is coming of age this month. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner, to marry a true Child of Derry. If your eligible son, brother, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the husband of Prince Richard and the adored royal consort of Derry, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One person from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince.

“‘Participants will be housed at the lovely Derry Palace in Angeles for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated’” - she draws out the words for effect - “‘for their service to the royal family.’”

I roll my eyes eyes as she goes on. This is the way the way they did it with sons of the crown. Princess born into the royal family were sold off into marriage in an attempt to solidify our young relations with other countries. I understand why it is done - we need allies. But I still don’t like it. I have t had to see such a thing, and I hope I never will. The royal family haven’t produced a princess in three generations. Princes, however married someone of the people to keep up the morale of our sometimes volatile nation. I think The Selection is meant to draw us together and remind us that Derry itself was born out of next to nothing.

The idea of being entered into a contest for the whole country to watch as this stuck-up little wimp picked the most gorgeous and shallow one of the bunch to be the silent, pretty face that stood beside him on TV... it was enough to make me scream. Could anything be more humiliating?

Besides, I’ve been in the homes of enough Twos and Threes to be sure I never wanted to live among them, let alone be a One. Except for the times we go hungry, I am quite content to be a Five. Ma was the caste-climber, not me.

“And of course he would love Eddie! He’s so handsome,” Ma swoons.

“Please, Ma. If anything, I’m average.”

“You are not!” Myra cries. “Because I look just like you, and I’m pretty!” Her smile is so wide, I can’t contain my laughter. And it is a good point. Because Myra really is beautiful. 

It is more than her face, more than her winning smile and bright brown eyes. Myra radiates an energy, an enthusiasm that makes you want to be wherever she is. Myra is magnetic, and I, honestly, am not.

“Francis, what do you think? Do you think I am handsome?” I ask.

All eyes fall to the youngest member of our family.

“No! You’re yucky!” 

“Francis, please.” Ma gives an exasperated sigh, but her heart isn’t in it. He was hard to get upset with. “Edward, you must know you are a very lovely young man.”

“If I am so lovely, how come no one ever comes by to ask me out?”

“Oh, they come by, Eddiebear, but I shoo them away. My children are much too pretty to marry Fives. Kathrine got a Four, and I am sure you can do even better than that.” Ma takes a sip of her tea.

“His name is James. Stop calling him a number. And since when do boys come by?” I can hear my voice getting higher and higher.

“A while,” Papa says, making his first comment on all of this. His voice has a hint of sorrow to it, and he is staring deliberately at his cup. I am trying to figure out what has upset him so much. 

Boys coming by? Ma and me arguing again? The idea of me not entering the contest? How far away I would be if I did?

His eyes come up for the briefest of moments, and I suddenly understand. He did not want to ask this of me. He doesn’t want me to go. But he can’t deny the benefits if I do manage to get in, even for a day.

“Eddie, be reasonable, please,” Ma says. “We have to be the only parents in the country trying to talk our child into this! Think of the opportunity! You could be royal consort one day!”

“Ma. Even if I wanted to be the royal consort, which I thoroughly do not, there are thousands of other people in the province entering this thing. Thousands. And if I somehow was drawn, there would still be thirty-four other people there, no doubt much better at seduction than I could ever even pretend to be.”

Francis’s ears perk up at that. “What’s seduction?” 

“Nothing,” we all chorus back at him.

“It’s ridiculous to think that, Id somehow manage to win,” I finish.

My mother pushes her chair out as she stands and leans across the table towards me. “Someone is going to, Eddie. You have as good as a chance as anyone else.” She throws her napkin down and leaves. “Francis, when you finish, it is time for your bath.”

He groans.

Myra eats in silence. Francis asks for seconds, but there aren’t any. When they get up, I start cleaning the table while Papa sits there sipping his tea. He has paint in his thick, almost-curly brown hair. It’s a smattering of yellow, and it makes me smile to myself. He stands, brushing crumbs off his shirt.

“Sorry, Papa,” I murmur as I pick up the plates.

“Don’t be silly. I am not mad.” He smiles easily and puts his arm around me.

“I just...”

“You do not have to explain it to me, son. I know.” He kisses me on the forehead. “I am heading back to work.”

And with that, I move to the kitchen to start cleaning. I wrap my mostly untouched plate under a napkin and hide it in the fridge. No one else left more than crumbs.

I sigh, heading to my room to get ready for bed. The whole thing is infuriating.

Why does Ma have to push me around so much? Was she not happy? Does she not love Papa? Why wasn’t this good enough for her?

I lay on my lumpy mattress, trying to wrap my head around The Selection. I guess it had its advantages. It would be nice to eat well for a while at least. But there is no reason to bother. I am not going to fall in love with Prince Richard. From what I have seen on the Derry Capital Report, I would not even like the guy.

It seems like forever until midnight rolls around. There is a mirror by my door, and I stop to make sure my hair looks as good as it had this morning and put on a little lip gloss so that there would be some color on my face. Ma was pretty strict about saving makeup for when we had to perform or go out in public, but I usually sneak some on nights like tonight.

As quietly as I can, I creep into the kitchen. I grab my leftovers, some bread that is expiring, and an apple and bundle it all up. It is painful to walk back to my room so slowly, now that it is late. But if I had done it earlier, I would have just been antsy.

I open my window and look out into our little patch of backyard. There isn’t much of a moon out tonight, so I have to let my eyes adjust before I can move. Across the lawn, the treehouse stands barely silhouetted in the dark night. When we were younger, Nikolas would tie up sheets to the branches so it would look like a ship. He was always the captain, and I was always his first mate. My duties mainly consisted of sweeping the floor and making food, which was dirt and twigs stuffed into Ma’s baking pans. He would take a spoonful of dirt and “eat” it by throwing it over his shoulder. This then meant I would have to sweep again, but I did not mind. I was just happy to be on the ship with Nikolas. 

I look around. All the neighboring houses are dark. No one is watching. I crawl out of the window carefully. I used to get bruises across my stomach from doing it the wrong way, but now it was easier, a talent I had thankfully mastered over the years. And I did not want to mess up any of the food.

I scurry across the lawn in my cutest pajamas. I could have left my day clothes on, but this feels better. I suppose it did not matter what I wore, but I feel pretty in my red short shorts and fitted yellow shirt.

It isn’t hard anymore to scale the slats nailed into the tree with only one hand. I have developed that skill as well. Each step up is a relief. It isn’t much of a distance, but from here it feels like all the commotion from my house is miles away. Here I don’t have to be anyone’s consort.

As I climb into the tiny box that was my escape, I knew I was not alone. In the far corner, someone is using the night as a cover. My breath sped; I can’t help it. I set my food down and squint into the darkness. The person shifts, lighting an all but unusable candle. It isn’t much light - no one in the house would be able to see it - but it is enough. Finally the intruder speaks, a sly grin spreading across his face.

“Hey there, g-gorgeous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that’s that lol
> 
> if you’ve actually read the selection series, i think reddie is very much suited for the novella about amberly and clarkson but i’m doing this instead lol


	2. A Penny Clinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> -kinda talks about being unable to have children/keep them healthy for a like a paragraph (i understand this can be very triggering for some people. please don’t force yourself to read it)
> 
> i’m already back for more!!
> 
> my brain is about to split over college :(

I crawl deeper into the tree house. It isn’t much more than a five-by-five-foot cube; even Francis can’t stand up straight in here. But I love it. There was the one opening to crawl into and then a tiny window on the opposite wall. I had placed an old step stool in the corner to act as a desk for the candle, and a little rug that was so old it was barely better than sitting on the slats. It isn’t much, but it was my haven. Our haven.

“Please don’t call me gorgeous. First, Ma, then Myra, now you. It’s getting on my nerves.” By the way Bill was looking at me, I can tell I’m not helping my “I’m not attractive” case. He smiles.

“I can’t h-help it. You’re the most b-b-beautiful thing I have e-ever seen. You cannot hold it a-against me for saying it at e-every chance I get.” He reaches up and cups my face. I look as deeply into his eyes as I can.

That is all it takes. His lips are on mine, and I can’t think about anything else anymore. There was no more Selection, no hungry family, no Derry at all. There is only Bill’s hands on my back pulling me closer, Bill’s soft breath on my cheeks. My fingers slide into auburn hair, still wet from his shower - he always takes his showers at night - and tangle themselves into a perfect knot. He smells like his mother’s homemade soap. I dream about that smell. We break apart for a moment, and I can’t help but smile.

His legs prop open wide, so I sit sideways between them, like a little kid who needs cradling. “Sorry I’m not in a better mood. It’s just that... we got this stupid notice in the mail today.”

“Ah, yes, the l-letter.” Bill sighs. “We g-got two.”

Of course. Bill and his brother were both of age. I had not even thought of either of them being Selected.

Bill studies my face as he speaks. He does that when we are together, like he is recommitting my face to memory. It has been over a week, and we both get anxious when it is more than a few days since we had last seen each other.

And I look him over, too. No caste excluded, Bill is, by far, the most attractive guy in town. He has soft auburn hair and bright blue eyes. He has a smile that would make you think he has some big secret. He is way taller than me, but not very tall compared to the other men in town. He’s thin, but not too thin. I notice in the dim candle light that there are tiny bags under his eyes; no doubt he’d been working late all week. His dark flannel shirt is worn to threads in several places, just like his shabby pair of jean shorts that he wore everyday.

If only I could sit and patch them up for him. That is my dream. My greatest ambition. Not to be Derry’s royal consort, which increasingly seemed to mean royal whore instead. I want to be Bill’s only.

It hurts me to be away from him. Some days I go crazy wondering what he is doing. And when I can’t handle it anymore, I practice my music. Bill’s the one I have to thank for being the musician that I am. He drives me to distraction.

And that is bad.

Bill is a Six. Sixes are servants and are only a step up from Sevens in that they are better educated and trained for work indoors. Bill is smarter than anyone I know and devastatingly handsome, but it was pretty unheard of to marry down if you yourself were already in a low caste. A man could ask for your hand, but it was rare for them to receive a yes in response. And when someone married into a different caste, they had to fill out paperwork and wait for something like ninety days before any other legal things you needed could be done. I’ve heard of a lot of couples who gave up during the wait period; it really is a very testy system. So us being this personal and out well past Derry’s strict curfew... we could both get in serious trouble. Not to mention the all the shit I’d get from my mother. 

But I love Bill. I have loved Bill for nearly two years now. As he sits here stroking my hair and the nape of my neck, I can’t bear to imagine entering The Selection.

“How do you feel about it? The Selection, I mean?” I ask.

“It’s okay, I-I guess. It’s not my cup of t-tea, but the poor p-p-prince has to find a partner somehow.” I could hear the sarcasm, but I really am curious about his honest opinion. 

“Bill, please.”

“Okay, okay. Well, a part of me t-thinks it’s kind of sad. Doesn’t the prince get the opportunity to d-date? I mean, can he seriously not get anyone without his p-parents’ aid? There has to be some royal out there good enough for him. I don’t really see the point of The Selection, but I also wouldn’t say I am avidly against it either.” He sighs. “But then... part of me feels like it is a good idea. I-I mean it’s e-exciting! The future king is going to fall in love in front of his entire future kingdom. And I am happy that someone will get a h-h-happily ever after. Anyone could be S-Selected! I don’t know, b-but it almost makes m-me feel like I c-can have a happy ever after of m-my own.” He picks up my hand and starts kissing my fingertips.

“Are you encouraging Georgie to enter, then?”

“Yes. I mean, we’ve all s-s-seen the prince from time to time; and he l-looks like a nice enough guy. A spoiled brat, no d-doubt, but friendly. And Georgie thinks it’s interesting.” He shrugs and continues talking, “He was dancing around the house with his l-letter when I got home t-this afternoon. And it would be g-good for the family, I can’t deny that.”

That was the first good news about this horrible competition. Georgie would love it the capital for sure! And if he married the prince, Bill’s family wouldn’t be asides anymore!

“Bill, do you realize what that could mean? If Georgie won?”

He closes his told tighter around me. His lips brush my forehead. One hand moves up and down my back in the most comforting way.

He whispers, “It’s all I’ve t-thought about today.” The gritty sound of his voice pushes out every other thought. All I want is for Bill to touch me, kiss me. And that’s exactly where the night would have gone, but his stomach growls and snaps me out of it.

“Oh, hey, I brought a snack.”

“Oh, yeah?” I can tell he’s trying not to sound excited, but some of his eagerness shines through anyway.

“You’ll love the chicken; I made it.”

I found my little bundle and brought it to Bill, who, to his merit, nibbled it all slowly. I took a single bite of the apple so he would not think I had only brought food for him. I set it down after though so he could have the rest of it.

Where meals were a worry at my house, they were a disaster at Bill’s. He had much steadier work than we did but got paid significantly less. There was never enough food for his family. He was the oldest child in his family, and in the same way I had to step up to help as soon as I could, Bill had stepped aside. He always passed his scraps of food to his little brother and his mom, who was always tired from work. His dad had passed only three years ago, and Bill’s family was still trying to adjust to the lack of money.

I watch with satisfaction as he licks the spices from the chicken off of his lips and begins to tear i to the small roll I had brought. I can’t even imagine the last time he had eaten.

“You are s-such a great c-c-cook. You’re going to make someone very fat and ha-happy some day.” He smiles at me around the food in his mouth.

“You’re going to be that someone; you know that.”

“I can only d-dream!”

I laugh, and he begins to tell me about his life since the last time I’d seen him. He has done some clerical work for one of the factories, and it was going to carry him through next week, too. His mom had finally gotten into a routine of house-cleaning for a few Twos in our area. Georgie was disappointed because his mom had made him drop out of his art class so that he could work some more.

“I am going to try to pick up some w-work on Sundays so I can make a l-little more. I hate that he has to give this up. He l-loves it so much.” He says this with so much hope, like he really can do it.

“Bill Denbrough, don’t you dare! You work so much already!”

“Aw, Eddie,” he whispers in my ear. “You know h-how Georgie is. He needs to be out and about. Not c-cleaning all the time. It’s just not in his n-nature.”

“But it isn’t fair. I know exactly how you feel, Bill, but you need to watch out for yourself! If you really love Georgie, you’ll take better care of his caregiver.”

“Don’t you w-worry about a thing, Eddie. I think t-there are some good things on the h-horizon. I won’t be doing it f-f-forever.”

But he will. Because his family will always need money. “Bill, I know you can do it. if you aren’t a superhero. You cannot expect to be able to provide everything for everyone you love. You just...you can’t do everything.”

We are quiet for a moment. I hope he is taking my words to heart, realizing that if he does not slow down, he’ll wear himself out. It isn’t anything new for a Six, Seven, or Eight to just die of exhaustion. I can’t bear that. I nestle myself even closer to his chest, trying to hide myself from that image.

“E-Eddie?”

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“Are you going to enter T-The Selection?”

“No! Of course not! I don’t want anyone to think I’d even consider marrying some stranger. I love you. I want to marry you.” I say to him earnestly.

“You want to be a Six? Always h-hungry? Always worried?” he asks. I can hear the pain in his voice, but the genuine question: If I had to choose between sleeping in a palace with people waiting on me or the one room apartment with Bill’s family, which one do I really want?

“Bill, we’ll make it. We’re smart, and we’ll be fine.” I am trying to will it to be true.

“You know t-that’s not kn-know it’ll be, Eddie. I’d still have to s-s-support my family; I’m n-not the abandoning t-type.” I squirm a little in his arms. “And if w-we have kids-“

“When we have kids. And we’ll just be careful about it. Who says we have to have more than one?”

“You know t-t-that’s not s-something we can c-control!” I can hear the frustration building in his voice. His stutter always got worse when he was upset.

I can’t really blame him. I knew this was an upsetting subject for Bill, and yet I wanted to talk about it anyway. If you were wealthy, you could regulate having a family. If you were a Four or worse, they left you to fend for yourselves. Bill’s family, of three now, was extremely rare for people of their caste. His mother has a very small body, and it was very hard for her to keep a baby healthy because of that. 

This topic has been the subject of all our arguments for the past six months, when we first started trying to find a way to be together. Children were definitely a wild card. The more you have, the more hands can help you with work; but also more mouths to feed.

We fall quiet again, both unsure of what to say. Bill is a passionate person; he tends to get a little carried away in an argument. I can be pretty bad about it, too. We are both trying to be better about catching ourselves before we get a little too angry at each other. 

I really don’t want to spend our little bit of time together upset, but I don’t know how to break the silence between us. I don’t want him to worry because I really think that we can handle children. If we could just plan for everything we possibly could, we would make it through everything we couldn’t plan. Maybe that was a little optimistic for people like us, but I really believe that anything Bill and I want badly enough, we can make happen.

“I think you sh-should d-do it.” he says suddenly. “Enter The Selection, p-p-please, for m-me.”

I glare at him and ask, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Eddie, l-listen to me.” His mouth is right next to my ear again. It isn’t fair; he is way too good at distracting me. When his voice comes, it is breathy and slow, like he was saying something romantic, though he is suggesting something that is anything but. “If you had the chance for s-something better than this, and you d-didn’t take it because of me, I would n-never forgive myself. I couldn’t s-stand it.”

I let out my breath in a quick huff. “But it’s so ridiculous! Think of the thousands of people entering. I won’t even get picked. And wait- are you planning to enter now?” I am suddenly very nervous of his answer.

“No, G-G-Georgie will be the only one entering for my family; but I know you are the only one in your f-family that received the l-letter because Nikolas no longer l-l-lives in this area and M-Myra isn’t quite old enough yet.” He stares deeply into my eyes as he says the next part, “And if you won’t get p-picked, then wh-why does it matter? D-Don’t you think your family d-d-deserves for you to at least t-try.” I guess I can’t argue with him on that. He says, “All I w-want is f-for you to enter. I just want y-y-you to try. And if you g-go, then you go. A-and if you don’t, then at l-least I won’t have to beat m-myself up for h-holding you back.”

“But I don’t love him, Bill. I don’t even like him. I don’t even know him!” 

“No one k-knows him. That’s the t-t-thing, though, maybe you w-would like him.”

“Bill. Stop. I love you. Only you.”

“And I l-love you.” He slowly kisses me to make his point. “And i-i-if you love me, you’ll d-do this so I won’t go c-crazy wondering wh-what if.”

When he makes it about him, I don’t stand a chance. Because I can’t hurt him. I am trying to do all that I can to make his life easier. And I am right. There’s absolutely no was I would be Selected. So I should just go through the motions, appease everyone, and when I didn’t get picked I could say that I told them so.

“Please?” he breathes into my ear. The feeling sends chills down my body.

“Fine.” I whisper. “I’ll do it. But know that I don’t want to be a royal consort. All I want from life is to be your husband.”

He strokes my hair.

“You w-will be,” he says with conviction.

It must have been the light. Or the lack thereof. Because I swear his eyes welled up when he said that. Bill has been through a lot, but I had only seen him cry once, when they had whipped his brother in the square. Georgie had been too young to understand the concept of stealing and had taken some fruit off a cart in the market without paying for it. An adult would have had a brief trial, and then depending on the value of what was stolen, either be thrown in jail or sentenced to death. Georgie was only five though so, he was beaten instead. Bill’s mom didn’t have enough money to take him to the doctor so, Georgie still had scars up and down his little, pale back. 

That night, I had waited by my window to see if Bill would climb up into our tree house. When he did, I snuck out after him. He cried in my arms for an hour about how if he’d only worked harder, if he’d only done better, then Georgie wouldn’t have been hungry enough to steal in the first place. He cried over how unfair it was that Georgie had been hurt because Bill had failed.

It was agonizing because it wasn’t true at all. But I couldn’t tell him that; he wouldn’t hear me. Bill carried the needs of everyone he loved on his back like a turtle. Somehow, miraculously, I became one of those people. So I made my load as light as I could for him.

“W-would you sing for m-me? Give me s-s-something to fall asleep to?” 

I smiled. I loved giving him songs. So I settled in close and sang him a lullaby as quietly as I could while still making it sound pretty.

He lets me sing for a few minutes before his fingers start moving absently below my ear. He pulls the neck of my shirt open wide and kisses along my neck and ears. This causes my breath to hitch. He does this every time I sing for him. I think he enjoys the sound of my raspy breathing more than the singing itself. He then pulls up my short sleeve and kisses as far down my arm as he can reach. He is always so gentle with me. 

Before long we are tangled together on the dirty, thin tiny square of rug. Bill pulls me on top of him, and I brush his hair with my fingers, hypnotized by the feel of it in my hands. He kisses me feverishly and hard. I feel his fingers dig into my waist, by back, my hips , my things. I am always surprised that he doesn’t leave little finger-shaped bruises all over me. I almost want him to.

We are always cautious. We always stop shy of the thing we truly want. As if breaking curfew isn’t bad enough. Still, whatever our limitations are, I can’t imagine anyone in Derry has more passion than we do.

“I-I-I love you, Edward Kaspbrak. As long as I-I live, I’ll love you.” There is some deep emotion in his voice, and it catches me off guard.

“I love you, Bill. You’ll always be my prince.”

And he kisses me until the candle burns out.

It has to be hours later, and my eyes are very heavy and hard to keep open. Bill never worries about his sleep, but he is always worried about mine. So I wearily climb down the ladder, taking my plate and my penny that Bill had given me tonight.

When I sang, Bill would give me a penny to “pay” me for my song if he could. I kept them all because I couldn’t bear to spend them. It was like having a reminder of everything he is willing to do for me, of everything I mean to him.

Back in my room, I pull my tiny jar of pennies from its hiding place and listen to the happy sound of the newest one hitting its neighbors. I wait for ten minutes, watching out the window, until I see Bill’s shadow climb down and run down the back road.

I stay awake a little while longer, thinking of Bill and how much we love each other. I felt special, priceless, irreplaceable. No one on any throne could possibly feel as important as I do.

I fall asleep with that thought securely locked away in my heart and a smile on my lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- when bill talks about kids with eddie: the science of making a child with two males and two females is possible in the dystopian future and it isn’t nearly as costly as it is rn. it isn’t used a whole bunch but i don’t want to write homophobia this early in and it would also make sense if the prince could marry someone of the same sex that they could still realistically have children together 
> 
> \- i dont really want to make this omega verse but if y’all think that would make it better (for this reason only lol) than lmk


	3. A Painting is Pushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am churning these out so fast today that the only people reading them are me lmao
> 
> hope y’all enjoy it!!

Bill was dressed in white, and he looked angelic. We were in Bangor still, but there was no one else around. We were alone, but we didn’t miss anyone. Bill wove twigs to make me a crown, and we were together.

“Edward,” Ma crows, startling me from sleep. She flicks on the lights, burning my eyes, and I rub my hands into them, trying to quickly adjust.

“Wake up, Edward. I have a proposal for you.” I look at the alarm clock and internally groan. I had barely gotten five hours of sleep last night.

“Sit up, please, this is serious.” I work myself into a sitting position that is almost decent, my clothes are rumpled and my hair looking like a bird’s nest.

“Come on, Edward, I need you to wake up.”

“What do you want?” I yawn.

“For you to submit your name for The Selection. I think you would make a lovely royal consort.” I restrain myself from rolling my eyes at that. It is way too early for that right now.

“Ma, really, I just...” I sigh as I remember what I had promised Bill last night. I promised I would at least give it a try. But. Now in the light of day, I wasn’t sure I could make myself do it.

“I know you are opposed, but I figured I would make a deal with you to see if you would change your mind.”

My ears perk up at that. What could she possibly offer me?

“Your father and I spoke last night, and we decided that you’re old enough to go on your jobs alone. You play the piano as well as I do, and if you’d try a little more, you’d be nearly flawless on the violin. And your voice, well. There’s simply no better in the province.”

I smile at her groggily. “Thank you, Ma. Really. That means a lot.” I don’t particularly care to work alone, though. I don’t see how that is supposed to entice me.

“Well, that isn’t really all. You can accept your work on your own now. And... and you can keep half of what you make,” she grimaces.

My eyes open wide at that.

“But only if you sign up for The Selection.” She is starting to smile now. She knew this would win me over, though I think she was expecting more fight from me. But how could I fight her proposal? I was already going to sign up, but now I can even earn my own money.

“You do understand I can only sign up, right? I cannot make them pick me.”

“Yes, I do, Eddie. But it’s worth a shot.”

“Wow, Ma,” I shake my head. “Okay, I will fill out the form today. Are you really serious about the money?”

“Of course, I am. Sooner or later, you have to go out on your own anyway. And being responsible for your own money will be good for you. Only, please don’t forget your family. We do still need your help, you know.”

“I won’t forget you, Ma. How could I, with all the nagging,” I joke. She laughs for a short moment, and with that, the deal is done.

I take a shower so that I can have some time to process everything that had just happened. By simply filling out a stupid form, I was winning the approval of my entire family, making Bill happy, and earning money so that Bill and I could get married faster!

I am not so concerned about the money, but Bill insists we need to have some savings of our own first. It costs a bit to do the legal stuff, and we want to have a very small party with our family after our wedding. I figure it won’t take very long for us to save for that once we decide we are ready, but Bill wants more. Maybe, finally, he would trust that we wouldn’t always be trapped in poverty if I started doing some serious work.

After my shower, I do my hair and put on the tiniest bit of makeup to celebrate, then I head to my closet and get dressed. There aren’t a lot of options. Mostly everything I own is brown or beige. The only thing I own with color is my pajamas. I had one decent looking suit for when we worked, but it was hopelessly behind in the fashion department and looked one wrong bad move away from falling to pieces. 

It was like that, though. Sixes and Sevens were usually seen dressed up in denim or something sturdy. Fives wore mostly bland-looking clothes, as the artists covered everything with smocks and aprons and the singers and dancers only needed to look nice for performances. 

The upper castes, on the other hand, wore khakis and denim from time to time but only for fashionable purposes, not for essential reasons. As if it wasn’t enough that they could have whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it, they turned out necessities into luxuries. 

I put on my khaki shorts and the brown working shirt. I look at myself in the mirror for a moment before heading down to our living room. I felt kind of pretty today. Maybe it was just the excitement in my eyes.

Ma is sitting at the kitchen table with Papa, humming softly. They both look at me strangely a couple of times, but even their off-putting stares can’t bother me.

When I pick up the letter, I am a little surprised. Such high-quality paper. I have never felt anything like it. Thick and slightly textured. For a moment, the weight of the paper hits me. I am immediately reminded of the magnitude this decision could have. Two words jumped to the forefront of my mind: What if?

I shake the thought away and put my pen to the paper. 

The questions are straightforward enough. I fill in my name, age, caste, and contact information. I have to put my height and weight, hair, eye, and skin color, too. I am pleased to write that I can speak three languages. Most citizens of Derry could speak at least two, but my mother insisted we learn both French and Spanish, since those languages are still used in some parts of the country. It also helps with the singing. There are so many pretty songs in French. We have to list the highest grade level we’d completed, which could vary immensely, since only Sixes and Sevens went to the public schools and had actual grade levels. I am nearly done with my own education. Under special skills, I list singing and all my instruments.

“Do you think the ability to sleep in counts as a special skill?” I ask Papa, trying to sound torn over the decision.

“Yes, make sure to list that. And don’t forget to write that you can eat an entire meal in under five minutes,” he replies. I laugh. It’s true; I do tend to inhale my food.

“Oh, the both of you! Why don’t you just write down that you’re an absolute heathen!” My mother storms out of the room. I can't believe she is so frustrated. It was just a simple joke.

I give Papa a questioning look.

“She just wants the best for you, that’s all.” He leans back in his chair, relaxing a bit before he starts on his newly commissioned piece that is due by the end of the month.

“So do you, but you’re never so angry with me,” I note.

“Yes. But your mother and I have different ideas of what’s best for you.” He flashes me a brave smile. I get my mouth from him - both the look of it and the tendency to say innocent things that get me into trouble. The temper was Ma’s doing, but she is much better at holding her tongue if she really wants to. Not me. Like right now...

“Papa, if I wanted to marry a Six or even a Seven, and he was someone I really loved, would you let me?”

Papa sets his mug down, and his eyes focus on me. I try not to give anything away with my expression, but it is hard not to be read like a picture book by him. His sigh is heavy, full of grief.

“Eddie, if you loved an Eight, I’d want you to marry him. But you should know that love can wear away under the stress of being married. Someone you think you love now, you might start to hate when he can’t provide for you anymore. And if you can’t take care of your children, it’d be an even worse situation. Love doesn’t always survive under those types of circumstances.”

Papa rests his hand on top of mine, drawing my eyes up to his. I try to mask my worry.

“But no matter what, I want you to be loved. You deserve to be loved. And I hope you get to marry for love and not for a number.”

He can’t say what I want to know - that I would get to marry for love and not for a number - but it is still the best I could hope for from him. It was way better than what I would have received if I had asked Ma.

“Thanks, Papa.”

“Go easy on your mother, please. She’s trying to do the right thing.” He kisses my head and goes off to work.

I sigh and go back to filling out the application. The whole thing makes me feel like my family doesn’t think I had any right to want something of my own. It bothers me, but I know I can’t hold it against them in the long run. We can’t really afford the luxury of wants. We have needs.

I take my finished application and go to find Ma in the backyard. She is sitting there, stitching up a hem as Myra does her schoolwork in the shade of the tree house. Bill used to complain about the strict teachers in the public schools, but I seriously doubted any of them could keep up with Ma. It was summer, for goodness’ sake.

“Did you really do it?” Myra asks, bouncing on her knees.

“I sure did.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Ma can be very compelling,” I say pointedly, though Ma was obviously not ashamed at all of her bribery. “We can go to the Services Office as soon as you’re ready, Ma.”

She smiles a little. “That’s my girl. Go get your things, and we’ll head out. I want to get yours in as soon as possible.”

I go upstairs to grab my shoes and bag as I’d been instructed, but I stop short at Francis’s room. He is staring at a blank canvas, looking extremely frustrated. We keep rotating through options with Francis, but none of them are sticking. One look at the battered soccer ball in the corner or the second hand microscope we had inherited as payment one Christmas, and it is obvious his heart just isn’t in the arts.

“Not feeling inspired today, huh?” I ask, stepping into his room.

He looks up at me and shakes his head disappointedly.

“Maybe you could try sculpting, like Nikolas. You have great hands. I bet you’d be really good at it.”

“I don’t want to sculpt things. Or paint or sing or play the piano. I want to play ball.” He kicks his foot into the aging carpet.

“I know. And you can for fun, but you need to find a craft you’re good at to make a living. You can do both.”

“But why?” he whines.

It saddens me to say this to him, but I have to. “You know why. It’s the law.”

“But that’s not fair!” Francis pushes the canvas to the floor, where it stirs up dust in the light from his window. “It’s not our fault our great-grandfather or whoever was poor.”

“I know.” It really seems unreasonable to limit everyone’s life choices based on your ancestors’ ability to help the government, but that is how it all worked out. And I suppose I should just be grateful we were safe. “I guess it was the only way to make things work at the time.”

He doesn’t speak. I breathe a sigh and pick up the canvas, setting it back into place. This is his life, and he can’t just wipe it away.

“You don’t have to give up your hobbies, bud. But you want to be able to help Ma and Papa and grow up and get married, right?” I poke his side.

He sticks his tongue out in playful disgust, and we both giggle.

“Edward!” Ma calls down the hall. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Coming,” I yell back, and then turn to Francis. “I know it’s hard. It’s just the way it is, okay?”

But I know it isn’t okay. It isn’t okay at all. For anyone.

Ma and I walk all the way to the local office. Sometimes, we take the public buses if we are going too far or if we are working. It looks bad to show up sweaty at the house of a Two. They already look at us funny anyway. But it is a nice day out, and the trip is just shy of being too long.

We obviously aren’t the only ones trying to get our submission in right away. By the time we got there, the street in front of the Province of Carolina Services Office was already packed with people.

Standing in line, I can see a number of boys and girls from my neighborhood in front of me, waiting to go inside. The trail is nearly four people wide and wraps halfway around the block. It seems like everyone in the province is signing up. I didn’t know whether to feel terrified or relieved.

“Sonia!” someone calls. My mother and I both turn at the sound of her name.

Georgie is walking up behind us with Bill’s mother. She must have taken the day off to do this. Her youngest son is dressed up as neatly as they can afford, looking very tidy. It isn’t much, but he looks amazing no matter what he wears, just like Bill. Georgie has his same auburn hair, if not a little lighter color, and beautiful smile.

Bill’s mother smiles at me, and I return her grin. I adore her. I only get to talk to her every once in a while, but she is always nice to me. And I know it isn’t because I was a step up from her; I have seen her give clothes that don’t fit her kids anymore to families who had next to nothing. She is just that kind.

“Hello, Sharon. Georgie, how are you?” Ma greets both of them.

“Good!” He sings.

“You look amazing,” I say, re-twirling one of Georgie’s loose curls.

“I want to look pretty for my picture,” he announces sweetly.

“Picture?” I ask.

“Yes.” Bill's mother speaks in a hushed voice. “I was cleaning at one of the magistrates’ houses yesterday. This lottery isn’t much of a lottery at all. That’s why they’re taking pictures and getting lots of information. Why would it matter how many languages you speak if it were random?”

That had struck me as funny, but I had thought that was all information for after the fact.

“It appears to have leaked a little; look around. Lots of girls are way overdone.”

I scan the line. Bill’s mother was right, and there is a clear line between those who know and those who don’t. Just behind us, obviously a Seven, still in her work clothes. Her muddy boots might not make the picture, but the dust on her overalls probably will. A few yards back another Seven is sporting a tool belt. The best I can say about him is that his face is clean.

On the other end of the spectrum, a girl in front of me has her hair up in a twist with little tendrils neatly framing her face. The girl beside her, clearly a Two based on her clothes, looks like she is trying to drown the world in her cleavage. Several people have on so much makeup, they look kind of like clowns to me. I try not to laugh. At least they are trying.

I think that I look decent, but I haven't gone to any such lengths. Like the Sevens, I hadn’t known to bother. I feel a sudden flutter of worry.

But why? I stop myself and rearrange my thoughts.

I don’t want this. If I am not pretty enough, surely that is a good thing. I would at least be a notch below Georgie. He is naturally very beautiful, and looks even lovelier with the little hints of makeup. If he won, Bill’s whole family would be elevated. Surely my mother can’t disapprove of me marrying a One just because he isn’t the prince himself. My lack of information is somehow a blessing.

“I think you’re right,” Ma says. “That girl looks like she’s getting ready for a Christmas party.” She laughs, but I can tell she hates that I am at a disadvantage.

“I don’t know why some people go so over the top. Look at Eddie. He’s so handsome. I’m so glad you didn’t go that route,” Mrs. Denbrough says.

“I’m nothing special. Who would pick me next to Georgie?” I wink at him, and he smiles at me shyly. Ma does, too, but it is forced. She must be debating about staying in the line or forcing me to run home and change.

“Don’t be silly! Every time Bill comes home from helping your brother, he always says the Kaspbraks inherited more than their fair share of talent and beauty,” Bill’s mother says.

“Does he really? What a nice boy!” my mother cooes.

“Yes. A mother couldn’t ask for a better son. He’s supportive, and he works so hard.”

“He’s going to make some girl very happy one day,” my mother says. She is only half into the conversation as she continues to size up the competition around us.

Mrs. Denbrough takes a quick look around. “Between you and me, I think he might already have someone in mind.”

I freeze. I don’t know if I should comment or not, unsure if either response will give me away.

“What’s she like?” my mother asks. Even when she is planning my marriage to a complete stranger, she still has time for gossip. Ironically, also about me.

“I’m not sure! I haven’t actually met her. And I’m only guessing that he’s seeing someone, but he seems a lot happier lately,” she replies, beaming.

Lately? We’ve been meeting for nearly two years. Why only lately?

“He hums,” Georgie offers. “And he sings, too.”

“He sings?” I exclaim.

“Oh, yeah,” he choruses.

“Then he’s definitely seeing someone!” my mother chimes in. “I wonder who she is.”

“You’ve got me. But I’m guessing she must be a wonderful girl. These last few months he’s been working hard - harder than usual. And he’s been putting money away. I think he must be trying to save up to get married.”

I can’t help the little gasp that escapes. Luckily for me, they all attribute it to the general excitement of the news.

“And I can’t be more pleased,” she continues. “Even if he’s not ready to tell us who she is, I love her already. He’s smiling, and he just seems so satisfied. It’s been so hard since we lost Zachary, and Bill’s taken so much on himself. Any girl who makes him this happy is already a daughter to me.”

“She’d be a lucky girl! Your Bill is a wonderful boy,” Ma replies.

I can’t believe it. Here his family was, trying to make ends meet, and he is putting away money for me! I don’t know whether I should scold him or kiss him. I just... I truly had no words.

He really is going to ask me to marry him!

It is all I could think about. Bill, Bill, Bill. I go through the line, sign at the window to confirm that everything on my form is true, and take my picture. I sit in the chair, flip my hair once or twice to give it some life, and turn to face the photographer.

I don’t think any girl in all of Derry could have been smiling more than me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone amazing will be making an appearance in the next chapter <3
> 
> if you see any errors at all, please lmk


	4. A Pin Shines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really really hope i am not blowing up yalls notifications right now. i am so sorry if i am it’s just that my school is out for inclimate weather today and i’ve been bored lol
> 
> hope you like the chapter!!

It is now Friday, so the Derry Capital Report will be on at eight. We aren’t exactly obligated to watch, but it is unwise to miss it. Even Eights - the homeless, the wandering - will probably find a store or a church where they can see the Report. And with The Selection coming up, the Report is more than a semi-requirement. Everyone wants to know what is happening in that department at least.

“Do you think they’ll announce the winners tonight?” Myra asks, stuffing mashed potatoes into her mouth as quickly as she can.

“No, dear. Everyone who’s eligible still has nine days to submit their applications. It’ll probably be two more weeks until we know.” Ma’s voice is the calmest it has been in years. She is completely at ease, pleased to have gotten something she really wanted.

“Aw! I cannot stand all the waiting,” Myra complains.

She can’t stand the wait? It’s my name in the pot!

“Your mother tells me you had quite a long wait in line.” I am surprised Papa wants in on this conversation in particular.

“Yeah,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting that many people to be there honestly. I don’t know why they’re giving people nine more days; I swear everyone in the province has already gone in.”

Papa chuckles. “Did you have fun gauging the competition?”

“Didn’t bother,” I say honestly. “I left that to Ma.”

She nods in agreement. “I did, I did. I can’t help it. But I think Eddie looked fine. Polished but natural. You are so beautiful, honey. If they really are looking through instead of picking at random, you have an even better chance than I originally thought.”

“I don’t know,” I hedge. “There was that girl who had on so much red lipstick she looked like she was bleeding. Maybe the prince likes that kind of thing.”

Everyone laughs, and Ma and I continue to regale them with commentary on the outfits we’d noticed throughout the torturously long wait. Myra drinks it all in, and Francis just sits there smiling between bites of his meager dinner. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that as long as Francis has been able to really understand the world around him, things have been stressful in our house.

At eight, we all pile into the living room - Papa in his chair, Myra next to Ma on the couch with Francis on her lap, and me on the floor all stretched out - and turn the TV to the public access channel. It is the one channel you don’t have to pay for, so even the Eights can get it if they have a TV.

The anthem begins to play. Maybe it’s silly, but I have always loved our national anthem. It is actually one of my favorite songs to sing.

The picture of the royal family comes into view. Standing at a podium was King Wentworth. His advisers, who had updates on infrastructure and some environmental concerns, are seated to one side, and the camera cuts to show them. It looks like there would be several actual announcements tonight. On the left of the screen, the queen and Prince Richard sit in their typical cluster of thronelike seats and elegant clothes, looking regal and important.  
“There’s your boyfriend, Ed,” Myra announces, and everyone laughs a little at her excitement.

I look closely at Richard. I guess he is handsome in his own way. Not at all like Bill, though. His hair is a dark black color, and his eyes are a bright, happy blue. He kind of looks like a rockstar, which I guess is attractive to some people. His hair is so long it is covering his forehead and his curls are just about everywhere, and his gray suit is perfectly fitted to him.

But he sits way too rigidly in his chair. He looks so uptight. He looks so uptight and unhappy right now. His tailored suit is too crisp, his lips pressed firmly together. He seems more like a painting than a person. I almost feel bad for the girl who ends up with him. 

I focus on his mother. She looks serene. She sits up in her chair, too, but not in a nervous way. I realize that, unlike the king and Prince Richard, she hadn’t grown up in the palace. She is a celebrated Child of Derry. She might have even been someone like me.

The king is already starting his speech, but I have to know.

“Ma?” I whisper, trying not to distract Papa.

“Yes?”

“The queen...what was she originally? Her caste, I mean.”

Ma smiles at my interest in the queen. “A Four,” she says.

A Four. She’d spent her formative years working in a factory or a shop, or maybe on a farm. I wonder about her life. Did she have a large family? She probably hadn’t had to worry about food growing up. Were her friends jealous of her when she was chosen? If I had any really close friends, would they be jealous of me?

That is stupid. I am not going to be picked.

Instead I focus on the king’s words.

“Just this morning, another attack in New Asia rocked our bases. It has left our troops slightly outnumbered, but we are confident that with the fresh draft next month will come lifted morale, not to mention a swelling of fresh forces.”

I hate war. Unfortunately, we are a very young country that has to protect herself against everyone. It isn’t likely this land could survive another invasion.

After the king gives us an update on a recent raid on a rebel camp, the Financial Team updates us on the status of the debt, and the head of the Infrastructure Committee announces that in two years they are planning to start work on rebuilding several highways, some of which haven’t been touched since the Fourth World War. Finally, the last person, the Master of Events, comes to the podium.

“Good evening, citizens of Derry. As you all know, notices to participate in The Selection were recently distributed in the mail. We have received the first count of submitted applications, and I am pleased to say that thousands of people have already placed their names in the lottery for The Selection!”

In the back corner, Richard shifts a little in his seat. Is he actually sweating right now?

“On behalf of the royal family, I would like to thank you for your enthusiasm and patriotism. With any luck, by the New Year we will be celebrating the engagement of our beloved Prince Richard to an enchanting, talented, and intelligent Child of Derry!”

The few advisers sitting there applaud. Richard tries a smile, but it looks pretty uncomfortable despite his efforts. When the applause dies down, the Master of Events starts up again.

“Of course, we will be having lots of programming dedicated to meeting the young women of The Selection, not to mention specials on their lives at the palace. We can not think of anyone more qualified to guide us through this exciting time than our very own Mr. Gavril Maturin!”

There is another smattering of applause, but it came from my mother and Myra this time. Gavril Maturin was a legend. For something like twenty years, he’s done all the running commentary on Grateful Feast parades and Christmas shows and anything they celebrate at the palace. I’ve never seen an interview with members of the royal family or their closest friends and family done by anyone but him.

“Oh, Edward, you could meet Maturin!” Ma croons at me.

“He’s coming!” Myra says, flailing her little arms.

Sure enough, there is Maturin, sauntering onto the set in his crisp blue suit. He is maybe in his late forties, and he always looks sharp. As he walks across the stage, the light caught on the pin on his lapel, a flash of gold that is similar to the mezzo signs in my piano music.

“Goooood evening, Derry!” he sings. “I have to say that I am so honored to be a part of The Selection. Lucky me, I get to meet thirty-five beautiful people! What idiot wouldn’t want my job?” He winks at us through the camera. “But before I get to meet these lovely lads and ladies, one of which will be our new royal consort or princess, I have the pleasure of speaking with the man of the hour, our Prince Richard.”

With that Richard walks across the carpeted stage to a pair of chairs set up for him and Maturin. He straightens his tie and adjusts his suit to the best of his ability. He shakes Maturin’s hand and sits across from him, picking up a microphone of his own. The chair is high enough that Richard props his feet on a bar in the middle of the legs. He looks much more casual that way.

“Nice to see you again, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Maturin. The pleasure is all mine.” Richard’s voice is as poised as the rest of him. He radiates waves of formality through his way of speaking and sitting and moving. Only his appearance seems to be in disarray. I wrinkle my nose at the idea of just being in the same room with him.

“In less than a month, thirty-five people will be moving into your house. How do you feel about that?”

Richard laughs. “Honestly, it is a bit nerve-racking. I’m imagining there will be much more noise with so many guests. I’m looking forward to it all the same.”

“Have you asked dear old dad for any advice on how he managed to get ahold of such a beautiful wife when it was his turn?”

Both Richard and Maturin look over to the king and queen, and the camera pans over to show them looking at each other, smiling and holding hands. It seems genuine, but how would we ever know any better?

“I haven’t actually. As you know, the situation in New Asia has been escalating recently, and I’ve been working with him more on the military side of things. Not much time to discuss dates in there.”

Ma and Myra laugh. I suppose it is kind of funny. Only a little though. It almost sounds like he didn’t write those words, but I guess he probably has a whole team of “royal writers” - or some name that is as equally dumb - who write jokes like that for him.

“We don’t have much time left, so I’d like to have one more question. What do you imagine your perfect partner will be like?”

Richard looks a little taken aback. It is hard to tell, but he may have been blushing a little.

He adjusts his sharp-looking bifocals, “Honestly, I don’t know. I think that’s the beauty of The Selection. No two people who enter will be exactly the same—not in looks or preferences or disposition. And through the process of meeting them and talking to them, I’m hoping to discover what I want, to find it along the way.” Richard smiles.

“Thank you, Your Highness. That was very well said. And I think I speak for all of Derry when I wish you the best of luck.” Maturin holds out his hand for another shake.

“Thank you, sir,” Richard says. The camera doesn’t cut away quickly enough, and you can see him looking over to his parents, wondering if he’d said the right thing, silently begging for their approval. The next shot zoomed in on Maturin’s face, so there was no way to see what their response was.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for this evening. Thank you for watching the Derry Capital Report, and we’ll see you next week.”

With that, the music plays and credits roll.

“Eddie and Richard sitting in a tree,” sing Myra. I grab a pillow and chuck it at her, but I can’t help laughing at the thought. Richard seems so stiff and quiet. It is hard to imagine anyone being happy with such a wimp.

I spend the rest of the night trying to ignore Myra’s teasing, and finally go to my room to be alone. Even the thought of being near Richard Tozier makes me uncomfortable. Myra’s little jabs stay in my head all night and make it difficult for me to fall asleep.

It is hard to pinpoint the sound that wakes me up, but once I am aware of it, I try to survey my room in absolute stillness, just in case someone is in here with me.

Tap, tap, tap.

I turn over slowly to face my window, and there is Bill, grinning at me. I get out of bed and tiptoe to the door, shutting it all the way and locking it. I go back to the bed, unlocking and slowly opening my window.

A rush of heat that has nothing to do with summer sweeps over me as Bill climbs through the window and onto my bed.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper, smiling at him in the dark.

“I h-had to see you,” he breaths into my cheek as he wraps his arms tightly around me, pulling me down until we are lying side by side on the bed.

“I have so much to tell you, Bill.”

“Shhh, d-don’t say a w-word. If anyone h-hears us, there’ll be hell to p-p-pay. Just let me l-look at you for right n-now.”

And so I obey. I stay there, quiet and still, while Bill stares into my eyes. When he has his fill of that, he turns to nuzzling his nose into my neck and hair. And then his hands are moving up and down the curve of my waist to my hip over and over and over. I hear his breathing get heavy, and something about that draws me in.

His lips, hidden in my neck, start kissing me. I draw in sharp breaths. I can’t help it. Bill’s lips travel up my chin and cover my mouth, effectively silencing all of my gasps. I wrap myself around him, our rushed grabbing and the humidity of the night covering us both in sweat.

It is a stolen moment.

Bill’s lips finally slow, though I am nowhere near ready to stop. But we have to be smart. If we go any further, and there was ever any evidence of it, we’d both be thrown in jail.

Another reason everyone married young in Derry: Waiting is torture.

“I sh-should go,” he whispers.

“But I want you to stay.” My lips are by his ears. I can smell his manly soap again.

“Edward K-Kaspbrak, one day you w-w-will fall asleep in my arms every s-single night, warm and satiated. And you’ll wake up to my kisses every morning. And th-then s-some.” I bite my lip at the thought. “But right now I have to g-go. We’re p-pushing our l-luck as it is.”

I sigh and loosen my grip. He is right, as per usual.

“I l-love you, Eddie.”

“I love you, Bill.”

These secret moments would be enough to get me through everything coming: Ma’s disappointment when I am not chosen, the work I’d have to do to help Bill save, the eruption that is coming when he asks Papa for my hand, and whatever struggles we’ll go through once we are married. None of it matters. Not if I have Bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok if you guessed that maturin was gonna be the special character, pls comment to tell me lol
> 
> i had been playing around with the idea of stephen king as the announcer but i thought it would be funnier if it was maturin lol
> 
> he is kind of the biggest reddie shipper so i think he deserves to be here!


	5. A Card is Read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go again!

A week later, I beat Bill to the tree house.

It takes a bit of work to get the things I want up there in silence, but I manage. I rearrange the plates one last time as I hear someone climbing the tree.

“Boo.”

Bill starts and laughs. I light the new candle I’d purchased just for us. He crosses the tree house to kiss me, and after a moment, I start talking about all that has happened during the week.

“I never got to tell you about the sign-ups,” I say, excited about the news.

“How’d it go? M-Ma said it was p-p-packed.”

“It was fucking insane, Bill. You should have seen what people were wearing! And I’m sure you know that it’s less of a lottery than they’re claiming. So I was right all along. There are far more interesting people to choose in Bangor than me, so this is all a big nothing.”

“All the s-same, thank you for d-doing it. It means a l-lot to me.” His eyes are still focused on me. He hasn’t even bothered looking around the tree house. Drinking me in, like always.

“Well, the best part is that since my mother had no idea I’d already promised you, she bribed me to sign up.” I can't contain my smile. This week families have already started throwing parties for their daughters, sure that they will be the one chosen for The Selection. I’ve sang at no less than seven celebrations already, packing two into one night for the sake of getting my own paychecks. And Ma was true to her word. It feels liberating to have money that is mine and mine alone.

“Bribed you? W-With wh-what?” His face is lit up with excitement.

“Money, of course. Look, I made you a feast!” I pull away from him and start grabbing plates. I’d made too much dinner on purpose to save him some, and I have been baking pastries for days. Myra and I both have a terrible addiction to sweets anyway, and she is jubilant that this is how I am choosing to spend my money.

“What’s all t-this?”

“Food. I made it myself.” I beam with pride at my efforts. Finally, tonight, Bill will be full. But his smile fades as he takes in plate after plate.

“Bill, is something wrong?”

“Th-This isn’t right.” He shakes his head and looks away from the treats.

“What do you mean?”

“Eddie, I’m s-s-supposed to be providing for you. It’s h-humiliating for me to c-come here and have you do all this for m-me.”

“But I give you food all the time.”

“Your little l-l-leftovers. You think I don’t kn-know better? I don’t feel b-b-bad about taking something you d-don’t want. But to have you - I’m s-supposed to-”

“Bill, you give me things all the time. You provide for me. I have all my pen-”

“P-Pennies? You think b-bringing that up n-n-now is a good idea? Don’t you know how m-much I hate that? That I l-love to hear you sing but c-can’t really pay you wh-when everyone else d-does?”

“You shouldn’t pay me at all! It’s a gift. Anything of mine you want you can have!” I know we need to be careful to keep our voices down. But at the moment I don’t care.

“I’m not some ch-charity case, Eddie. I’m a m-man. I’m supposed to be a p-provider.”

Bill puts his hands in his hair. I can see his breaths coming fast. Just like always, he is thinking his way through the argument. But this time, there is something different in his eyes. Instead of his face growing focused, it falls into confusion one millimeter at a time. My anger at his archaic statement fades quickly as I see him there, looking so lost. I feel guilty instead. I had meant to spoil him, not humiliate him.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He shakes his head.

“I love you, too, E-Eddie.” But he still won’t look at me. I pick up some of the bread I have made and put it in his hand. He is too hungry not to take a bite.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought it would make you happy.”

“No, Eddie, I l-love it. I can’t b-believe you did all th-this for me. It’s just...you don’t kn-know how much it bothers me that I c-can’t do this for you. You d-deserve better.” Mercifully, he keeps eating as he speaks.

“You’ve got to stop thinking of me that way. When it’s just you and me, I’m not a Five and you’re not a Six. We’re just Bill and Eddie. And I don’t want anything in the world but you.”

“But I can’t s-stop thinking that w-w-way.” He looks at me. “That’s how I w-was raised. Since I was l-little, it was ‘S-Sixes are born to s-serve’ and ‘Sixes aren’t m-meant to be seen.’ My whole life, I’ve been t-taught to be invisible.” He grabs my hand in a viselike grip. “If we’re t-t-together, Eddie, you’re g-going to be invisible, too. And I don’t w-want that for you.”

“Bill, we’ve talked about this. I know that things will be different, and I’m prepared. I don’t know how to make it any clearer.” I put my hand on his heart. “The moment you’re ready to ask, I’m ready to say yes.”

It is terrifying to put myself out there like that, to make it absolutely clear how deep my affections run. He knows what I am saying. But if making myself vulnerable meant he’d be brave, I will endure it. His eyes search mine. If he is looking for doubt, he is wasting his time. Bill is the one thing I am sure of.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” The word feels like a slap across the face....

“Bill?”

“I don’t kn-know how I fooled m-myself into ever thinking this w-would work.” He runs his fingers through his hair again, like he is trying to get all the thoughts he has ever had about me out of his head.

“But you just said you loved me.”

“I do, Eddie. That’s th-the point. I can’t m-make you like me. I can’t s-stand the thought of you hungry or c-c-cold or scared. I can’t make you a Six.”

I feel the tears coming. He doesn’t mean that. He can’t. But before I can demand him to take it back, Bill is already moving to crawl out of the tree house.

“Where...where are you going?”

“I’m l-leaving. I’m going home. I’m s-sorry I did this t-to you, Eddie. It’s over n-now.”

“What?”

“It’s over. I won’t come a-around anymore. Not l-like this.”

I start crying. “Bill, please. Let’s talk about this. You’re just upset.”

“I’m m-more upset than you know. But n-not at you. I just c-can’t do this, Eddie. I can’t.”

“Bill, please...”

He pulls me in tight and kisses me - really kisses me - one last time. Then he disappears into the night. And because this country is the way it is, because of all the rules that keep us in hiding, I can’t even call out after him. I can’t tell him I love him one more time.

As the next few days pass, I know my family can tell that something is wrong, but they must have assumed I was nervous about The Selection. I want to cry a thousand times, but I hold them all back. I just push on to Friday, hoping that everything will go back to normal after the Capital Report broadcasts the names.

I dream it up in my head. How they will announce Georgie, and my mother will be disappointed, but not as disappointed as she would have been if it was a stranger. Papa and Myra will be excited for them; our families were close. I know Bill has to be thinking about me like I have been thinking about him. I bet he’d be over here before the program was over, begging me for forgiveness and asking for my hand. It might be a little premature, since there is nothing guaranteed for the people, but he can capitalize on the general excitement of the day. It will probably smooth a lot of things over.

In my head, it works out perfectly every time. In my head, everyone is happy...

It is ten minutes until the Report comes on, and we are all in place early. I can’t imagine we are alone in not wanting to miss a second of this announcement.

“I remember when Queen Margaret was chosen! Oh, I knew from the beginning she would make it.” Ma is making popcorn, as if this is a movie.

“Did you go in the lottery, Mama?” Francis asks.

“No, sweetie, Mama was two years too young for the cutoff. But lucky me, I got your father instead.” She smiles and winks.

Whoa. She must be in a really good mood. I can’t remember the last time she was that affectionate toward Papa.

“Queen Margaret is the best queen ever. She’s so beautiful and smart. Every time I see her on TV, I want to be just like her,” Myra says with a sigh.

“She is a good queen,” I add quietly.

Finally, eight o’clock rolls around, and the national emblem rises on the screen along with the instrumental version of our anthem. Am I actually trembling? I am so ready for this to be over.

The king appears and gives a brief update on the war. The other announcements are also short. It seems like everyone there is in a good mood. I guess this must be exciting for them, too.

Finally the Master of Events comes up and introduces Maturin, who walks straight over to the royal family.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he says to the king.

“Maturin, always good to see you.” The king is borderline giddy.

“Looking forward to the announcement?”

“Ah, yes. I was in the room yesterday as a few were drawn; all very lovely people.”

“So you know who they are already?” Maturin exclaims.

“Just a few, just a few.”

“Did he happen to share any of this information with you, sir?” Maturin turns to Richard.

“Not at all. I’ll see them when everyone else does,” Richard replies stiffly. You can see he is trying to hide his nerves.

I realize my palms are sweating.

“Your Majesty,” Maturin goes over to the queen. “Any advice for The Selected?”

She smiles her serene smile. I don’t know what the other people looked like when she went through The Selection, but I can’t imagine anyone being as graceful and lovely as her.

“Enjoy your last night as an average person. Tomorrow, no matter what, your life will be different forever. And it’s old advice, but it’s good: Be yourself.”

“Wise words, my queen, wise words. And with that, let us reveal the thirty-five young ladies chosen for The Selection. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in congratulating the following Children of Derry!”

The screen changed to the national emblem. In the upper right-hand corner, there is a small box with Richard’s face, to see his reactions as the pictures go across the monitor. He will already be making decisions about them, the way we all will.

Maturin has a set of cards in his hands, ready to read out the names of the people whose worlds, according to the queen, are about to change forever.

“Mr. Eli Stoles of Hansport, Three.” A photo of a tiny boy with porcelain skin pops up. He looks like a gentleman. Richard beams.

“Mr. Thomas Knacks of Waverly, Four.” A boy with freckles appeared. He looks older, more mature. Richard whispers something to the king.

“Miss Fallyn Danes of Paloma, Three.” A brunette with smoldering eyes this time. Maybe my age, but she seemed more...experienced.

I turned to Ma and Myra on the couch. “Doesn’t she seem awfully -”

“Mr. Edward Kaspbrak of Bangor, Five.”

I whip my head back around, and there it is. The picture of me just after I’d found out Bill was saving up to marry me. I look radiant, hopeful, beautiful. I look like I am in love. And some idiot thought that love was for Prince Richard.

Ma screams by my ear, and Myra jumps up, sending popcorn everywhere. Francis gets excited too and starts dancing. Papa...it’s hard to say, but I think he is secretly smiling behind his book.

I miss what Richard’s expression is.

The phone rings.

And it doesn’t stop for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh i’m so excited for eddie to get to the castle!!!


	6. A Pill is Taken

The next week is full of officials swarming into our house to prepare me for The Selection. There is an obnoxious woman who seems to think I’d lied about half my application, followed by an actual palace guard who came to go over security measures with the local soldiers and give our home a once-over. Apparently, I don’t have to wait until getting to the palace to worry about potential rebel attacks. Wonderful.

We get two phone calls from a woman named Kay Mccall - who sounds very perky and businesslike at the same time - wanting to know if we need anything. My favorite visitor is a lean, goateed man who came to measure me for my new wardrobe. I am not sure how I feel about wearing dresses that are as formal as the queen’s all the time, but I am looking forward to a change.

The last of these visitors comes on Wednesday afternoon, two days before I am to leave. He is in charge of going over all the official rules with me. He is incredibly skinny with greasy black hair that is smoothed back, and he keeps sweating. Upon entering the house, he asks if there is someplace private we can talk. That is my first clue that something weird is going on.

“Well, we can sit in the kitchen, if that’s all right,” Ma suggests.

He dabs his head with a handkerchief and looks over at Myra. “Actually, anyplace is fine. I just think you might want to ask your younger daughter to leave the room.”

What can he possibly say that Myra isn’t allowed to hear?

“Mama?” she asks, sad to be missing out.

“Myra, darling, go and work on your painting. You’ve been neglecting your work a bit this last week.”

“But—”

“Let me walk you out, Myra,” I offer, looking at the tears welling up in her eyes.

When we are down the hall and no one can hear, I pull her in for a hug.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I’ll tell you everything tonight. Promise.”

To her credit, she doesn’t blow our cover by jumping up and down as usual. She merely nods somberly and goes away to her little corner in Papa’s studio.

Ma makes tea for Skinny, and we sit at the kitchen table to talk. He has a stack of papers and a pen laid out next to another folder with my name on it. He arranges his information neatly and speaks.

“I’m sorry to be so secretive, but there are certain things I need to address that are unfit for young ears.”

Ma and I exchange a quick glance.

“Mr. Kaspbrak, this is going to sound harsh, but as of last Friday, you are now considered property of Derry. You must take care of your body from here on out. I have several forms for you to sign as we go through this information. Any failure to comply on your part will result in your immediate removal from The Selection. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say warily.

“Very good. Let’s start with the easy stuff. These are vitamins. Since you are a Five, I’ll assume that you may not always have access to necessary nutrition. You must take one of these every day. You’re on your own now, but at the palace, you’ll have someone to help you.” He passes a large bottle across the table to me, along with a form I have to sign to say that I have received it.

I have to stop myself from laughing. Who needs help taking a pill?

“I have with me the physical from your doctor. Not much of a worry there. You seem to be in excellent health, although he said you haven’t been sleeping well?”

“Umm, I mean...just with the excitement, it’s been a little hard to sleep.” It is almost the truth. The days are whirlwinds of palace preparation, but at night, when I am still, I think of Bill. It is the one time I can’t avoid him coming into my mind, and it appears he isn’t eager to leave.

“I see. Well, I can have some sleep aids here tonight if you need them. We want you well rested.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Yes,” Ma interrupts. “Sorry, Eddiebear, but you look exhausted. Please, get him the sleep aids.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Skinny makes another note in my file. “Moving on. Now, I know this is personal, but I’ve had to discuss it with every contestant, so please don’t be shy.” He pauses. “I need confirmation that you are, in fact, a virgin.”

Ma’s eyes nearly popped out. So this is why Myra had to leave.

“Are you serious?” I can’t believe they’d send someone out to do this. 

“I’m afraid so. If you’re not, we need to know that immediately.”

Ewww! And with my mother in the room. “I know the law, sir. I’m not stupid. Of course I am.”

“Consider, please. If you are found to be lying…”

“For goodness’ sake, Eddie’s never even had a boyfriend!” Ma says.

“That’s right.” I grab that rope, hoping it will end this discussion.

“Very good. I’ll just need you to sign this form to confirm your statement.”

I roll my eyes but obey. I am glad Derry exists, considering that this very land has nearly been turned to rubble, but these regulations are starting to make me feel like I am suffocating, like there are invisible chains keeping me down. Laws about who you can love, forms about your virginity being intact; it is all so infuriating.

“I need to go over the rules with you. They are very straightforward, and you shouldn’t have a hard time complying. If you have any questions, just speak up.”

He looks up from his stack of forms and makes eye contact with me.

“I will,” I mumble.

“You cannot leave the palace of your own accord. You have to be dismissed by the prince himself. Even the king and queen cannot force you out. They can tell the prince they do not approve of you, but he makes every decision on who stays and who leaves.

“There is no set timeline for The Selection. It can be over in a matter of days or stretch into years.”

“Years?” I ask in horror. The thought of being gone that long sets me on edge.

“Not to worry. The prince is unlikely to let it go for very long. This is a moment for him to show his decisiveness, and allowing The Selection to drag on doesn’t look good. But should he choose to take it that way, you will be required to stay for as long as the prince needs to make his choice.”

My fear must show on my face because Ma reaches over and pats my hand. Skinny, however, is unfazed.

“You do not arrange your times with the prince. He will seek you out for one-on-one company if he wants it. If you are in a larger social setting and he is present, that is different. But you do not go to him without invitation.

“While no one expects you to get along with the other thirty-four contestants, you are not to fight with them or sabotage them. If you are found laying hands on another contestant, causing her stress, stealing from her, or doing anything that might diminish her personal relationship with the prince, it is in his hands whether or not to dismiss you on the spot.

“Your only romantic relationship will be with Prince Richard. If you are found writing love notes to someone here or are caught in a relationship with another person in the palace, that is considered treason and is punishable by death.”

Ma rolls her eyes at that one, though that might be the only rule that worries me.

“If you are found breaking any of Derry’s written laws, you will receive the punishment tied to that offense. Your status as one of The Selected does not put you above the law.

“You must not wear any clothes or eat any food that is not specifically provided for you by the palace. This is a security issue and will be strictly enforced.

“On Fridays, you will be present for all Capital Report broadcasts. On occasion, but always with warning, there will be cameras or photographers in the palace, and you will be courteous and allow them to see your lifestyle with the prince.

“For each week you stay at the palace, your family will be compensated. I will give you your first check before I leave. Also, should you not stay at the palace, an aide will help you adjust to your life after The Selection. Your aide will assist you with final preparations before you leave for the palace, as well as help you seek new housing and employment afterward.

“Should you make it to the top ten, you will be considered an Elite. Once you reach that status, you will be required to learn about the particular inner workings of the life and obligations you will have as the royal consort. You are not permitted to seek out such details before that time.

“From this moment on, your status is a Three.”

“A Three?” Ma and I both exclaim.

“Yes. After The Selection, it’s hard for some to go back to their old lives. Twos and Threes do fine, but Fours and below tend to struggle. You are a Three now, but the rest of your family remain Fives. Should you win, you and your entire family become Ones as members of the royal family.”

“Ones.” The word is faint on Ma’s lips.

“And should you go to the end, you will marry Prince Richard and become the crowned royal consort of Derry and take on all the rights and responsibilities of that title. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” That part, as big as it sounds, is the easiest to bear.

“Very good. If you could just sign this form saying you’ve heard all the official rules, and Mrs. Kaspbrak, if you could just sign this form saying you received your check, please.”

I don’t see the sum, but it makes her eyes well. I am miserable at the idea of leaving, but I am sure if I go there only to be sent back the next day, this check alone will provide us with enough money for a very comfortable year. And when I get back, everyone will want me to sing. I’d have plenty of work. But will I be allowed to sing as a Three? If I have to pick one of the career paths of a Three, I think I’d teach. Maybe I could at least help others learn music.

Skinny collects his forms and stands to leave, thanking us for our time and for the tea. I will have to interact with only one more official before I leave, and that will be my aide: the person who will guide me through getting from my house to the send-off to the airport. And then...then I’ll be on my own. Our guest asks if I will show him to the door, and Ma consents, as she wants to start dinner. I don’t like being alone with him, but it is a short walk.

“One more thing,” Skinny says with his hand on the door. “This isn’t exactly a rule, but it will be unwise of you to ignore it. When you are invited to do something with Prince Richard, you do not refuse. No matter what it is. Dinner, outings, kisses - more than kisses - anything. Do not turn him down.”

“Excuse me?” Is the same man who made me sign a form affirming my purity suggesting that I let Richard have it if he wants it?

“I know it sounds...unbecoming. But it would not behoove you to reject the prince under any circumstances. Good evening, Mr. Kaspbrak.”

I am disgusted, revolted. The law, Derrian law, is that you were to wait until marriage. It is an effective way of keeping diseases at bay, and it helps keep the castes intact. Illegitimates are thrown into the street to become Eights, and the penalty for being discovered, either by a person or through pregnancy, is jail time. If someone is even suspicious, you can spend a few nights in a cell. True, it restricts me from being intimate with the one person I love, and that has bothered me. But now that Bill and I are over, I am glad I’d been forced to save myself.

I am infuriated, pissed way off. Hadn’t I just signed a form saying I’d be punished if I broke Derrian law? I am not above the rules; that is what he’d said to me. But apparently the prince is. And I feel dirty, lower than an Eight.

“Edward, honey, it’s for you,” Ma sings. I hear the doorbell myself but am in no rush to answer it. If this is another person asking for an autograph, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.

I walk down the hall and turn the corner. There, with a handful of wildflowers, is Bill.

“H-Hello, Eddie.” His voice is restrained, almost professional.

“Hello, Bill.” Mine is weak.

“These are f-from Georgie. He w-wanted to wish you l-luck.” He closes the distance between us and gives me the flowers. Flowers from his brother, not from him.

“That’s awfully sweet!” Ma exclaims. I had almost forgotten she was in the room with us.

“Bill, I’m glad you’re here.” I try to sound as removed as he had. “I’ve made a mess trying to pack. Could you help me clean?”

With my mom there, he has to accept. As a general rule, Sixes don’t turn down work. We are the same in that way.

He exhales through his nose and nods once.

Bill follows me down the hall. I think about how many times I’d wanted just this: for Bill to walk in my house and come to my room. Can the circumstances have been any worse?

I push open the door to my room, and Bill laughs out loud.

“Did you l-let a dog do your p-p-packing?”

“Shut up! I have had a little trouble finding what I am looking for.” In spite of myself, I smile.

He goes to work, setting things upright and folding shirts. I help, of course.

“Aren’t you t-taking any of th-these clothes?” he whispers.

“No, they dress me from tomorrow on out.”

“Oh. W-Wow.”

“Was Georgie disappointed?”

“N-No, actually.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “The m-mo-moment we saw your face, the wh-whole house erupted. They’re c-crazy about you. My m-mom in p-particular.”

“I love your mom. She’s always really nice to me.”

A few minutes pass in silence as my room goes slowly back to normal.

“Your p-picture...,” he begins, “was absolutely beautiful.”

It hurts to have him tell me I am beautiful. It isn’t fair. Not after everything he had done.

“It was for you,” I whisper.

“What?”

“It’s just...I thought you were going to be proposing soon.” My voice is thick.

Bill is quiet for a moment, choosing his words.

“I’d been thinking about it, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rubs his neck, deciding.

“I was w-waiting.”

“For what?” What could possibly be worth waiting for?

“For the d-draft.”

That is an issue. It is hard to know whether to wish to be drafted or not. In Derry, every nineteen-year-old male is eligible for it. This means that I would have been eligible next year. Soldiers are chosen at random twice a year, to catch everyone within six months of their birthday. You serve from the time you are nineteen until you are twenty-three. And it is coming soon.

We had talked about it, of course, but not in a realistic way. I guess we both had hoped that if we ignored the draft, it would ignore us, too.

It is a blessing in that being a soldier meant you were an automatic Two. The government trains you and pays you for the rest of your life. The drawback is you never know where you will go. They send you away from your province, for sure. They assume you are more likely to be lenient with people you know. You might end up at the palace or in some other province’s local police force. Or you might end up in the army, shipped off to war. Not very many men that are sent into battle make it home.

If a man isn’t married before the draft, he’d almost always wait. You’d be separated from your wife for four years, at the very best. At the worst, she would be a young widow.

“I just...I d-didn’t want to d-do that to you,” he whispers.

“I understand.”

He straightens up, trying to change the subject. “So wh-what are you taking to the p-palace?”

“A change of clothes to wear whenever they finally kick me out. Some pictures and books. I’ve been told I won’t need my instruments. Anything I want will be there already. So that little bag there, that’s it.”

The room is tidy now, and that backpack seems huge for some reason. The flowers he had brought look so bright on my desk compared to the drab things I own. Or maybe it is just that everything seems paler now...now that it is over.

“That’s n-not much,” he notes.

“I’ve never needed very much to be happy. I thought you knew that already.”

He closes his eyes. “Stop it, E-Eddie. I am doing the right th-thing, and you know it.”

“The right thing? Bill, you made me believe we could do it. You made me love you. And then you talked me into this damn contest. Do you know they’re practically shipping me off to be one of Richard’s playthings?”

He whips his head around to face me. “Wh-Wh-What?”

“I’m not allowed to turn him down. Not for anything.”

Bill looks sick, angry. His hands clenches up into fists. “Even...e-even if he doesn’t w-w-want to marry you...he c-c-could...?”

“Yes.”

“I’m s-sorry. I d-didn’t know.” He takes a few deep breaths. “But if he d-does pick you...that’ll b-be good, right? You d-deserve to be happy.”

That is it. I slap him. “You idiot!” I whisper-yell at him. “I hate him! I love you! I wanted you; all I ever wanted was you!”

His eyes well up, but I don’t care. He has hurt me enough, and now it’s his turn.

“I sh-should go,” he says, and starts heading to the door.

“Wait. I didn’t pay you.”

“Eddie, you d-don’t have to pay m-me.” He goes to leave again.

“Bill Denbrough, don’t you dare move!” My voice is fierce. And he stops, finally paying attention to me.

“That’ll be good p-practice for wh-when you’re a One.” If it hadn’t been for his eyes, I would have thought it was a joke, not an insult.

I just shake my head and go to my desk, pulling out all the money I’d earned by myself. I put every last bit of it in his hands.

“Eddie, I’m not t-taking this.”

“The hell you aren’t. I don’t need it, and you do. If you ever loved me at all, you’ll take it. Hasn’t your pride done enough for us?” I can feel a part of him shut down. He stops fighting.

“Fine.”

“And here.” I dig behind my bed, pull out my tiny jar of pennies, and pour them into his hand. One rebellious penny that must have been sticky stays glued to the bottom. “Those were always yours. You should use them.”

Now I don’t have anything of his. And once he spends those pennies out of desperation, he won’t have anything of mine. I feel the hurt coming back up. My eyes get wet, and I breathe hard to keep the sobs back.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. G-Good luck.” He shoves the money and the pennies into his pockets and runs out.

This isn’t how I thought I’d cry. I was expecting huge, jarring sobs, not slow, tiny tears.

I start to put the jar on a shelf, but I notice that little penny again. I put my finger in the jar and get it unstuck. It rattles around in the glass all by itself. It is a hollow sound, and I can feel it echo in my chest. I know, for better or for worse, I am not really free of Bill, not yet. Maybe not ever. I open the backpack, put my jar inside, and seal it all away.

Myra sneaks into my room, and I take one of those stupid pills. I fall asleep holding her tightly, finally feeling numb.


	7. A Lily is Pinned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from this chapter on, i am going to be moving more away from the source material
> 
> i still plan to use the books as a guide but from now, this fic will be more mine and i hope that acceptable lol

The next morning, I dress myself in the uniform that’s already been picked out for me. The uniform of a Selected: black pants, white shirt, and my province flower - a lily - which I clip onto my shirt. My shoes I get to pick, so I chose worn-out red sneakers that only have one hole in them. I figure I should make it clear from the start that I am not royal consort material and don’t plan to become someone who is.

We are set to leave for the square shortly. Each of The Selected is getting a send-off in their home provinces today, and I am not looking forward to mine at all. There will be so many people staring at me while I do nothing more than stand there and try to smile. The whole thing already feels ridiculous from the moment I am told that I have to be driven the two short miles for security reasons.

The day begins uncomfortably. Katherine comes with James to send me off, which is kind of her, considering she is super pregnant and tired. Nikolas comes by, too, though his presence adds more tension around the house than ease. As we walk from our house to the car we’ve been provided, Nikolas is by far the slowest, letting the few photographers and well-wishers who are there get a good look at him. Dad just shakes his head. Nikolas has always been an attention-getter.

Myra is my only solace. She holds my hand and tries to inject some of her enthusiasm into me which doesn’t really work. We are still holding hands when I step into the crowded square. It seems like everyone in the entire province of Bangor has come out to see me off. Or just see to what the big deal is.

Standing on the raised stage, I can see the boundaries between the castes. Michelle Stephens is a Three, and she and her parents are staring daggers at me. Tenil Rigs is a Seven, and he is blowing kisses. The upper castes look at me like I have stolen something that is theirs. The Fours on down are cheering for me - an average boy who’s just been elevated. I immediately become aware of what I mean to everyone here, as if I represent something for all of them, which is a pretty scary thought.

I try to focus on those faces, holding my head high. I have to do this well. I will be the best of us, the Highest of the Lows. It gives me a sense of purpose. Eddie Kaspbrak: the champion of the lower castes.

The mayor speaks with a little too much flourish.He goes on and on. I can feel my palms start to sweat.

“And Bangor will be cheering on the beautiful boy of Sonia and Frank Kaspbrak, the new Gentleman Edward Kaspbrak!”

The crowd claps and cheers for me. Some even throw flowers.

I take in the sound for a moment, smiling and waving, and then go back to surveying the crowd in front of me, but this time for a different purpose.

I want to see his face one more time if I can. I don’t know if he will come. He told me I looked beautiful yesterday but now is even more distant and guarded than he had been in the tree house. It is over, and I know that. Truly, I do. But you don’t love someone for almost two years and then turn it off overnight just because you’re hurt.

It takes a few passes of the crowd before I find him. I immediately wish I haven’t. Bill is standing there with Audra Phillips in front of him, casually holding her around the waist and smiling.

Maybe some people can turn it off overnight.

Audra is a Six and about our age. Pretty enough, I suppose, though she and I don’t have any similar features. I guess she’d get the wedding and life he has been saving for me. And apparently the draft doesn’t bother him so much anymore. She smiles at him and walks away to her family.

Has he liked her all along? Has he been lying to me? Is she the girl he saw every day and am I the girl who fed him and showered him with kisses once a week? Georgie had said something about him being happier lately; is she the reason? It occurs to me that maybe all the time he omitted in our stolen conversations isn’t simply long, boring hours of inventory. 

I am way too angry to cry.

Besides, I have admirers here who want my attention. So, without Bill even knowing that I had seen him, I go back to those adoring faces. I put my smile back on, bigger than it was before, and start waving. Bill will not have the satisfaction of breaking my heart anymore. He’d put me here, and I will take advantage of it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in sending off Edward Kaspbrak, our favorite Child of Derry!” the mayor calls. Behind me, a small band begins to play the national anthem.

More cheers, more flowers. Suddenly the mayor is right at my ear.

“Would you like to say something, my dear?”

I do not know how to say no without sounding rude so I say, “Thank you, but I’m so overwhelmed, I’m not sure I could.”

He cups my hands in his. “Of course, dear boy. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. They’ll train you for this kind of thing at the palace. You need it.”

The mayor then tells the gathered crowd of my attributes, slyly mentioning that I am very intelligent and attractive for a Five. He doesn’t seem too bad a guy, but sometimes even the nicer members of the upper castes are still condescending.

I catch Bill’s face once more as my eyes sweep the crowd. He looks pained and a little sick. It is the polar opposite of the face he had worn with Audra a few minutes ago. Another game? I break the gaze first.

The mayor finishes speaking, and I smile and everyone cheers, as if he’d just given the most inspiring speech known to man.

And suddenly it is time to say good-bye. Ricky Lee, my aide, tells me to say my farewells quietly and briefly, and then he’ll escort me back to the car that will take me to the airport.

Nikolas hugs me and tells me he is proud of me. Then, not so subtly, he tells me to mention his art to Prince Richard. I wiggle out of his embrace as gracefully as I can.

Kathrine is crying.

“I barely see you as it is. What will I do when you’re gone?” she cries.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be home soon enough.”

“Yeah, right! You’re the most beautiful person in Derry. He’ll love you! He has to!”

Why did everyone think it all came down to beauty? Maybe it does. Maybe Prince Richard doesn’t need a partner to speak to, just someone to look pretty next to him. I actually shiver at the thought, considering that as my future. But there are many girls much more attractive than me.

Kathrine is hard to hug over her pregnant belly, but we manage. James, who I really don’t know that well, hugs me, too. Then it is Francis.

“Be a good boy, okay? Try the piano. I’ll bet you’re better than amazing. I expect to hear it all when I come home.”

Francis just nods, abruptly sad. He throws his tiny arms around me.

“I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you, too. Don’t be sad. I’ll be home soon.”

He nods again, but crosses his arms a little to pout. I had no idea he’d take my leaving this way. It is the exact opposite of Myra. She is bouncing on her toes, absolutely giddy for me.

“Oh, Eddie, you’re going to be the princess! I know it!”

“Oh, hush! No matter what, I will not be a princess. I can’t physically be a princess, Myra. And I’d rather be an Eight and stay with you any day. Be good for me, and work hard.”

She nods and bounces some more, and then it is time for Papa, who is close to tears.

“Papa! Don’t cry.” I fall into his arms.

“Listen to me, son. Win or lose, you’ll always be royalty to me.”

“Oh, Papa.” I finally start to cry. That is all it takes to unleash the fear, the sadness, the worry, the nerves - the one sentence that showed me that none of it matters in the long run.

If I come back used and unwanted, he’d still be proud of me. And that’s what is really important.

It is too much to bear, to be loved that much. I’d be surrounded by scores of guards at the palace, but I can’t imagine a place safer than my father’s arms. I pull away because I am running out of time and turn to hug Ma.

“Do whatever they tell you. Try to stop sulking and be happy. Behave. Smile. Keep us well posted. Oh! I just knew you’d turn out to be special.”

It is meant to be sweet, but it isn’t what I need to hear right now. I wish she could have said that I am already something special to her, like I am to my father. But I guess she will never stop wanting more for me, more from me. Maybe that’s what mothers always do.

“Mr. Eddie, are you ready?” Ricky Lee asks. My face is away from the crowd, and I quickly wipe away my tears.

“Yes. All ready.”

My bag is waiting in the shiny white car. This is it. I start to walk to the edge of the stage to the stairs.

“Eddie!”

I turn. I’d know that voice anywhere.

“Eddie!”

I search and find Bill’s flailing arms. He is pushing the crowd aside, people protesting at his not-so-gentle shoves.

Our eyes meet.

He stops and stares. I can’t read his face. Worry? Regret? Whatever it is, it is too late. Way too late. I shake my head in his direction. I am done with Bill’s games.

“This way, Mr. Eddie,” Ricky Lee instructs from the bottom of the stairs. I give myself a quick second to calm down.

“Good-bye, Eddiebear,” my mother calls after me.

And I am led away after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone remember ricky lee from the book? i thought he was hilarious


End file.
